


Messages

by Haywire



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 12:23:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17446925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haywire/pseuds/Haywire
Summary: Tony tries not to think about certain things, and fails.





	Messages

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for anyone who hasn't seen Infinity War yet.

Tony stared out into the dark recesses of space. Nebulae blossomed in one far corner of his vision, the colours muted and still through the thick window, though he knew from the different shades they represented the burning hearts of celestial bodies.

Not as they blazed right at that moment, if they still burned at all; rather, the light was a message from the past. He knew the formulae used to determine such things, and part of his mind danced into action, trying to estimate ages and distances.

He knew that was only a distraction, however. Retreating into the cold calculus of the cosmos to distract him from his own dilemma.

_Mr. Stark, I don’t feel so good._

His hands vibrated at the memory, as if they could feel the ashes swirling and swimming in a chaotic pattern away from him, right through his fingers. Peter’s apology haunted him, as if it had been the boy’s fault and not his. An interstellar cloud of dust came into view, drifting in the infinite abyss and mocking his memory.

Turning away from the window, Tony surveyed the inside of his prison. He had run out of food and water days ago, despite having rationed it as much as such things could be rationed. There was nothing left to spread out, to sustain him now. He’d even scrapped what remained of his Iron Man armour, in the hopes of repairing his crippled vessel, all to no avail.

All he had left was the clothing on his back, such as that was, stained and dirtied from his battle with Thanos. It had been too hot in the ship at one point, so he had stripped down. Later it grew too cold, and now he felt little to nothing. Not a good sign, he knew.

_Should’ve packed better,_ he said to himself, chuckling.

_You should have shirts in your closet._

Tony slumped to the ground, sliding down the ship’s metallic wall. Across from him, his suit’s mask, half dismantled in his attempts to salvage useful material. Its empty eyes stared back at him, through him.

This isn’t how it’s supposed to end, he thought. Not for himself; he didn’t care about himself. No, _Pepper_ didn’t deserve this. Any of this.

Sitting up slightly, Tony felt light-headed. The oxygen was already getting dangerously thin, and he gave another inner chuckle at the thought of its impact on his body: no more alcohol or drugs for Tony, but he’d still go out as if he were impaired. Where was the justice in that? Some message to send, universe.

Message. He turned his head and looked back out at the light from the stars, remembering that word.

It was time for him to leave his own message.

With great difficulty, Tony sat up and stretched out his right arm, fingers reaching gingerly for his helmet, praying it still worked.


End file.
